Who Asked You? by Terry McMillan Read Free Book Online

that?” He ended up getting a bachelor of science in this and then moved to France to study with some masters or heavy-duty vineyards or something. Miss Montana, on the other hand, flits. She changed her major five or six times before settling on history and would’ve changed it again but she had to declare or else. I don’t know, sometimes these pretty girls in Los Angeles don’t take themselves seriously enough.
    I almost jump out of this recliner when I hear the doorbell again. I’m sick of doorbells. It had better be Nurse Kim and not Trevor. He should be on his knees telling me “Thank you.”
    “It’s open!” I yell, and in walks my favorite person, BJ’s evil sister, Arlene. She despises me because twenty-six years ago I stole a black man from a nonexistent black woman.
    “What are you doing here half-naked and where’s my sister?”
    “She took the little ones to school and then she’s going on to the hotel for part of the day, and for your information this is called a robe and I came here to sit with Lee David until Nurse Kim gets here, and if I’m not being too forward: Wouldn’t it have been more considerate to have called first?”
    She cuts those eyes at me as if to say, “Bitch, who do you think you’re talking to?”
    I am not moved. So I cut my eyes back at her as if to say, “Bitch, you.” I would put my hands on my hips for special effect but I’ve already had one major surprise this morning. I wouldn’t want to provoke my best friend’s sister into doing something stupid. Plus, she doesn’t know I’m a black belt.
    During this one-minute standoff, the screen door opens and in comes Nurse Kim in a denim miniskirt and a tight pink T-shirt with cleavage I would kill for and pink wedge sandals. She struts right past Arlene. Nurse Kim is one sexy nurse. Her legs are long and smooth. She’s a pretty reddish brown, the color I’d want to be if I were black. “Good morning, everybody,” she says. “I hope nothing’s wrong, is it?”
    I shake my head no and head toward the screen door to get out of what could potentially become an inferno. But Arlene beats me to the punch and lets the door slam in my face. Nurse Kim winks at me and then yells: “Miss Arlene, hold up a minute!”
    Arlene turns around like she’s ready to jump into the ring. “What?”
    “Please tell Omar I said hey!” and she makes a soft fist and holds it next to her ear like it’s a telephone. I love her.

Arlene
    L ast night between her spin class and Bible study, Venetia called and told me that Betty Jean called her and told her that Trinetta had almost OD’d while she was on the phone with her! That Trinetta had the audacity to leave those kids over there with Betty Jean for almost a week and now Betty Jean is planning on keeping them until Trinetta can prove to her that she’s clean. “Which could very well mean never,” I said.
    “I pray for our niece every single night, Arlene.”
    “Well, maybe Trinetta’s not picking up on God’s radar.”
    “I’m worried about Betty Bean too, Arlene. At this rate she could end up like all those grandmothers you read about in magazines and see in newspapers around Christmas or on
Oprah
or after the Super Bowl when the players on the winning team send shout-outs to their grandmas: not their mothers or fathers and not their wives and not their girlfriends. They’re just waving away and yelling at the top of their lungs: ‘I want to send my love to my grandma, who if it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t be here: Love you, Grandma!’ These women almost all get stuck raising their grandchildren out of guilt, and who can blame them? How in the world does she think she can possibly manage it all? This happened to Ernesta, the woman who goes to my church and ended up having a heart attack herself—may she rest in peace—not that I’m thinking something like this could happen to BB but it would sure help if she let Christ into her life to help steer her in the right